


Burden of Proof

by juliabsquared



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Blackouts, Courtroom Drama, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Domestic Violence, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Multiple Storylines, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, human in the afterlife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21855301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabsquared/pseuds/juliabsquared
Summary: She regarded him warily. “Olivia Benson.” She took a couple of limping steps after him and found her strength coming back to her. She needed to call her squad, but her phone was probably lost in the river along with her gun. “You still haven’t told me what this place is.”Charon fixed her with a hard stare, as if unsure whether she was an idiot or just pretending to be one in order to mess with him. “You’re in the Underworld. Hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re dead.”NYPD Lieutenant Olivia Benson washes up on the shore of Acheron with no gun, no badge, and no memory of how she got there.
Relationships: Hades/Minthe (Lore Olympus), Hades/Persephone (Lore Olympus)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	Burden of Proof

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pretty significant departure from my normal writing style, so I hope y'all enjoy it. It started as a self-indulgent idea where I really just wanted to see Olivia Benson kick more rapists' asses, and morphed into what I'm hoping will be a pretty epic journey through Olympus and the Underworld.
> 
> ***Content warning:** My vision going forward is for this to play out like an episode of _Law & Order: SVU_, so there will be multiple mentions and descriptions of sexual assault and domestic abuse. I intend to include specific trigger warnings on the individual chapters. The following chapter refers to possible character deaths, but no rape or abuse.*

Drowning. Choking. Burning. Over and over she somersaulted in the strong current, desperately clinging to the one shred of awareness she still had left. _ Pain_. Every inch of her was screaming in agony; the water stung her eyes and ears, burned in her nose and throat, yet somehow was icy cold at the same time. In vain she tried searching for light, for some clue as to which way was up so she could breathe again, but all around her was inky darkness. Thrashing, kicking, grabbing at the murky water was all she could do until finally her foot connected with something solid. She pulled herself forward until her head and hands broke the surface of the water, chilled even more by a blast of frigid air. Ignoring for a moment the blinding pain, she clawed her way up the sloping ground, dragged herself onto the dry bank, and coughed up a mouthful of the foulest river water she had ever encountered. The agony in her head and limbs was subsiding to a dull ache, but before she could do anything there was a new, searing stab to her left abdomen. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out, clutched at her side, and collapsed. 

The next thing Olivia knew, she felt a nudge in her back from the heavy toe of a boot. “Hey lady,” a rough voice intoned from somewhere above her, “you can’t stay here.”

Olivia opened her eyes with great effort, and instinctively grabbed at the holster strapped to her side. Her gun wasn’t there. She must have been holding it when she went into the river, she realized. It was long gone now. She had no idea how long she’d been passed out. “What?” was the only response she could manage. 

“You can’t stay here. Come on. Up.”

She rolled over towards the stranger’s voice and struggled to sit up. The pain in her side caused her to wince. Olivia gasped as she took in her surroundings. The river she had crawled out of was charcoal gray, its waters opaque with grime. Above her stretched a blood red sky and below her the ground was rocky and barren. This was no part of the Hudson or the East River she’d ever seen. “Where… where is ‘here’ exactly?”

The stranger helped her to her feet. He was tall and carried a golden staff, but more curious was the rest of him. His clothes, hair, eyes, and even his skin shone a golden copper. “The River Styx,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Don’t know why you tried to swim across though. That water could have destroyed you.”

“Why didn’t it?”

The golden man shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I just run the ferry.” He gave a slight bow. “Charon at your service.” Charon turned and started walking, motioning her to follow.

She regarded him warily. “Olivia Benson.” She took a couple of limping steps after him and found her strength coming back to her. She needed to call her squad, but her phone was probably lost in the river along with her gun. “You still haven’t told me what this place is.”

Charon fixed her with a hard stare, as if unsure whether she was an idiot or just pretending to be one in order to mess with him. “You’re in the Underworld. Hate to break it to you, honey, but you’re dead.”

_ Dead?! _ Benson’s ears were ringing. “What? How? But–”

He held up a hand. “I don’t make the rules,” he said tiredly. “Not like you’re the first mortal to try and argue with me.”

“Look, this can’t be right. I have to get back to New York–” She thrust her hands into her pockets but found nothing. No ID, no lieutenant’s badge, not even a MetroCard. She shivered again in the cold temperature.

“Sorry sister. But what’s done is done. You kicked the bucket. Bought the farm. You done got _ got _. So you’re not going anywhere, except to follow me.”

“Did I… drown?” Benson racked her brain, trying to remember how she ended up in the river. Hadn’t she coughed all of that nasty black water out of her lungs? Panic seeped through the fog and into her brain. _ Where was Noah? _Tears pricked behind her eyes. “Who’s taking care of my son?”

Charon shrugged with the disaffected air of someone bored of answering the same questions from everyone he came across. “No idea. I don’t have your file, only the King of the Underworld does. Like I said, I just run the ferry.”

“Where are we going?” Clutching her left side, she hurried after him. Wherever they were going, maybe someone there could make some sense of all this. 

He threw her another look, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of her. “Judgement.”

***

Benson walked slowly through a great stone room, her footsteps echoing faintly on the polished floor. Charon hadn’t given her any instructions, only told her this was her stop. At the far end of the room stood a massive throne, and perched atop it was… well, she could only assume it was a man, although he looked unlike any man Benson had ever seen.

It was hard to tell whether it was the dim lighting or her imagination, but he appeared before her a deep shade of blue. His hair, a silvery-white mane, was tamed only by the iron crown perched atop his brow. But it was his eyes that really chilled her. Tinted with scarlet, they stared at her, unblinking, as if boring holes into her very mind. 

“Mortal,” he called out to her, his deep voice reverberating off the marble columns that surrounded the room. “State your name, that you may be judged by the God of the Dead and King of the Underworld.”

She gulped. It was just now setting in how frightening this place was. Nevertheless, she tilted her chin upwards to look him square in the eye. “Lieutenant Olivia Margaret Benson, NYPD.” Pulling rank reminded her she had faced people way more terrifying than this guy... whatever he was.

He didn’t respond, just frowned at the stack of papers he held. “Spell your last name?” His tone was a lot softer, to go along with the mundanity of this new question.

“B-E-N-S–”

He held up a hand to silence her. “Date of birth?”

“February seventh, nineteen sixty-eight.”

“Occupation?” His frown deepened.

She sighed, growing tired of this. The pain in her left side was getting stronger now. She tried desperately not to think of Noah but it was no use. “Police officer.”

The King of the Underworld shuffled his papers again. Then he pulled what looked like a mobile phone out from the pocket of his robes, and dialed someone. “Kore? Where are you right now?” There was a perceptible change in his voice, still deep but much softer than he’s spoken to Benson. “Can you please come to the throne room as soon as possible?” Pause. “I’m… not sure, actually. Just please bring copies of all the files you’ve been working on today... Thank you.” 

It seemed like an eternity she stood there, shivering in her damp clothes and realizing she probably looked and smelled like a drowned sewer rat. Finally, a door behind the throne banged open and out dashed a young woman – Kore, Benson assumed. 

The king’s face lit up when he saw her, and no wonder. She was as brightly colored as he was, although in her case everything about her was a cheery, bright pink. Flowers wove through her short pixie cut. She looked no older than a teenager, college-age at the most. “I’m here,” she puffed, looking as if she might drop the mountain of files she was carrying.

He grinned, small dimples forming at the corners of his smile. “Take it easy, little goddess,” he told her. He had all but forgotten about the mortal in front of him, it seemed. It was as if the only person in the room was the lovely pink woman. “Here, let’s see those files.”

Kore climbed the marble steps to the throne and presented him with her stack of folders. On top was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, which the king donned. “You left these in the library.” She giggled softly. 

The God of the Dead flipped through the stack of files, perusing each one carefully. Kore watched over his shoulder, tapping her foot anxiously and occasionally throwing a furtive glance in Benson’s direction.

“Did I file something wrong?” the girl asked, her elegant brows knitting together in worry. 

“No, I don’t think so…” He patted her arm absentmindedly. Finally he looked up at Benson but didn’t speak at first, just opened his mouth and then quickly closed it again. He didn’t strike her as someone who often found himself at a loss for words, but he was clearly flustered. “You’re not on my list,” he said quietly.

“What does that mean?” Of course even the afterlife was about as smoothly run as any New York City municipal office, which was to say, a bureaucratic nightmare. “Charon told me I was dead and I had to come here for judgement.”

The king removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I… don’t know how to tell you this, but there’s been some mistake. You’re not supposed to be here.”

**Author's Note:**

> The current plan is for this to be about 10-11 chapters, in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
